Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Whatever. Can we go?”
“Yeah, we can go once you tell me you won’t do that again.”
“Fine,” she mutters with a roll of her eyes. Giving up for now, I take her hand and head across the street to the dog park, where we find a bench to sit on inside the closed-off area and unleash Muffin to play.
“Miss Reed.” I hear a shout and turn my head to watch a girl, probably ten or eleven, running up to us in an oversize coat with her curly hair bouncing around her smiling face.
“Hey, honey,” Fawn says, surprised, as she stands and greets the girl with a hug. “What are you doing here?”
“We came to the park to hang out for a while,” the girl says with a shy shrug, then looks over her shoulder when a man yells her name. “Sorry, I have to go.”
“Is your mom here with you?” Fawn asks softly.
The girl nods, then adds, “Yes, and Juan.”
“Oh,” Fawn says, looking across the park. “Tell your mom I said hello.”
“I will,” she agrees before taking off at a run across the grass toward a woman who’s not dressed for the cold but wearing a skimpy dress and short leather jacket and a man wearing a dark suit and wool overcoat. Studying the guy, I realize why he looks familiar. Juan Varges is the main suspect in the murder of the prostitute that happened Halloween night. He’s also a well-known pimp and all-around piece of shit.
“Fuck.” My eyes meet his across the distance. I lift my chin toward him, letting him know I see him. He smirks, then lifts his chin in return before taking the girl’s shoulder and turning her away from us.
“Who’s the girl?” I ask Fawn’s back as she stares off across the park, watching the couple and child as they walk away.
“Tamara—she’s one of my students.”
“Is that her dad?”
“No, her mom’s new boyfriend,” she whispers, and I watch her hands ball into fists at her side. “I don’t like him.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Do you know him?” she asks quietly, turning around to look at me.
“Come here.” I pat the bench next to me and wait until she’s seated, then wrap my arm around her shoulder. “He’s not a good guy. He’s also a pimp.”
“Oh no,” she breathes, looking toward where the couple disappeared. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Baby.” I hold her tighter when it looks like she’s about to bolt.
“He’s around her, he picks her up from school almost every day . . . What if he—”
“Calm,” I command, cutting her off when I see she’s working herself up. “How long has her mom been with him?”
“I don’t know, maybe a couple months.” She closes her eyes, dropping her forehead to my shoulder. Fuck. I press a kiss to the top of her head, fighting the urge to tell her that I’m investigating him. I can’t—I don’t want her involved any more than she already is, and if she accidentally slips up and mentions it to someone, it could blow my whole case. “It will be okay.”
I rub her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her while raging inside. Men like Juan Varges believe they are above the law. They have the means and the power to control the people around them and will do whatever’s necessary to stay out of jail. This case isn’t the first one Juan has been a suspect in. One other woman from his stable has been murdered in the last year that we know of. And I say know of because most women who work in the sex industry are forgotten by their families. So if they go missing, no one realizes it until it’s too late.
“Can we go?” she asks, and my arm tightens.
“Yeah, baby.” I stand, bringing her with me. Taking her hand, I lead her to a garbage can near the edge of the sidewalk and dump our trash before walking toward the dog area where Muffin is being chased by a small Yorkie. Putting my fingers in my mouth, I whistle, then shout, “Muffin.” Her head swings my way, and her tongue lolls out of her mouth before she starts to trot in our direction.
“Did you have fun, girl?” Fawn asks, opening the gate and attaching the leash to Muffin’s collar before handing it to me. She bends down and sticks her hand through one of the slats in the fence to pet the Yorkie that followed Muffin across the play area. “Toby, you’ve gotten so big, look at you,” she coos to the small dog as he licks her fingers.
“Fawn,” a man calls behind us, and she stands and turns with me to face a guy with messy hair and glasses. He’s wearing a pair of jeans, a tee that has paint on the front of it, and a black jacket. Watching his eyes scan her as he gets close to us, I fight the urge to growl mine.